Edge of the Wilderness (13 page)

When the Grants had supper that night, Marjorie said abruptly, “Say a prayer for Daniel Two Stars, Jeb.” At her husband’s look of surprise she shrugged. “It just seems like somethin’ we ought to do.”

Jeb prayed.

For the L
ORD
seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the L
ORD
looketh on the heart.”

—1 Samuel 16:7

“Welcome home,” Gen whispered, hugging Simon. Her joy faltered when she realized how thin he was. She looked up at him with a little frown of concern. Fatigue was etched in his face, aging him considerably.

Simon released her quickly and opened his arms to Meg and Hope, staggering backward when they flung themselves at him. “Whoa, there, girls,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “Let your old father sit down.” He held their hands and together they went into the parlor where it did not escape Gen’s notice that Simon sighed with relief when he sank into a cushioned high-backed chair.

Aaron lingered behind his father, his arm around Gen. He did not miss her look of concern. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “He’s just tired.”

Gen patted Aaron on the back and then left his side to join the small group gathered around Simon.

“We want to hear everything,” Miss Jane said.

Samuel and Nina Whitney murmured their assent while the children sat quietly on the braided rug, miraculously well-behaved and quiet in the face of Aaron and the reverend’s homecoming.

“You talk first, Aaron,” Simon said, smiling up at his son. He kissed Hope on the cheek and then let her down with the other children while Meg nestled back against him.

Aaron sat down on the couch next to Gen. He studied the floor for a moment, obviously struggling to organize his thoughts. “Crow Creek is—” He shook his head. “I can’t begin to tell you. The worst place possible. The idea of farming there is ludicrous.” Aaron looked at his father and shrugged. “There isn’t much anyone can do.”

“Wrong,” Simon interrupted gently.

With a look in his father’s direction, Aaron nodded. “We’re fairly helpless to relieve the
physical
difficulties.” He continued, “Although we helped plow up a few new acres for planting in the spring, it will all be pointless unless the drought breaks.” He paused, thinking. “I got to know a few of the old men.” He looked around the room. “There aren’t many boys my age. Most of them have died. The rest are too sick to do much.” The situation Aaron went on to describe was worse than anything the group had imagined. Aaron finally gave up with a helpless shrug. “You can’t really imagine it until you’ve been there.”

“But,” Simon spoke up, “we have witnessed some amazing things spiritually.” He looked at Aaron. When their eyes met, something passed between them.

“Yes,” Aaron confirmed. “Father told you how we put up a booth—you know,” he said as he held his hands over his head to illustrate for the children, “poles set in the ground with brush for a kind of roof. As soon as we had it finished there was a crowd ready to attend the first meeting.” Aaron grinned at Gen. “Amos Huggins would have been amazed if he could have heard the hymn-singing.”

“Amos Huggins?” Nina Whitney asked.

Miss Jane explained, “Amos helped translate many of the hymns in the first Dakota hymnal.” She lowered her voice almost reverently. “He was among the first killed in the uprising. He had just returned from having the hymnal printed. They found his body on the road.”

“Singing is one of the favorite parts of the day,” Aaron said. “We sing hymns at every meeting. And they love to hear Father teach.” He looked at his father with unabashed pride.

“Tell them about the trip back to St. Anthony,” Simon broke in.

“Perhaps over supper,” Miss Jane interrupted. “You men must be starving.” She was already headed for the kitchen. “We’ve a roast turkey in the oven and the first harvest of squash.” She motioned to the children. “Come along—time to set the table.” Aaron got up to help her, but she pushed him back. “You get unpacked and talk to the grown-ups.” She flashed a huge smile at him. “I declare, you’re very nearly an adult, anyway. I can’t believe how you’ve grown!” She herded the rest of the children into the hall and toward the kitchen.

Simon pushed himself up out of his chair. He sighed. “Miss Jane is right, Aaron. We’d best be getting unpacked and cleaned up.” He patted the sides of his vest. “I think there’s at least ten pounds of road dust in these rags.” He walked by the couch and patted Gen on the shoulder. “It’s good to be home.”

Gen closed her eyes and put her hand on his. “I’ll go help Miss Jane with dinner.” She walked to the door with Simon, kissing his cheek when they parted. From the doorway, she watched him trudge up the stairs. “Simon,” Gen called from below. When he turned to look back at her, she said softly, “There’s plenty of time for you to lie down before dinner. You must be exhausted.”

He nodded. “Perhaps I will.”

“Where’s Father?” Aaron wanted to know. He bounded into the kitchen and swept Hope up in his arms. “I knocked on his door before I went out to the garden nearly an hour ago.”

“I’ll check on him,” Gen said quickly. She flew up the back steps to Simon’s door, knocking gently at first, then with more force. When there was no answer, she turned the knob and called softly, “Simon. Supper is ready. Simon?” When the only answer was soft snoring, Gen pushed the door open a little farther. Simon was lying face up on the bed, fully clothed. He did not stir while Gen removed his shoes, then his socks. When she covered him with a lightweight blanket and tucked a pillow beneath his head, he sighed happily. It was not until she gently undid his tie and began to unbutton his top shirt button that he woke. Without opening his eyes, he took her hand and kissed it, whispering, “It seems that I do have a guardian angel, after all.” He opened his eyes and stared up at her. “I was dreaming about you, Miss LaCroix.”

Gen knelt beside the bed. She stroked the gray hair along his temple. “You’re completely worn out, Reverend Dane.”

He mumbled, “Guilty as charged.” He took a deep breath, obviously fighting the temptation to close his eyes.

“Sleep,” Gen whispered gently. She kissed his forehead before getting up. He was sound asleep before Gen got to the door.

“He’s resting,” Gen said when Elliot Leighton knocked at the kitchen door the next afternoon. She was sitting at the kitchen table, a box of apples on the floor beside her, a pile of peelings in a bowl in her lap. “If you wish,” she said without getting up, “I can send Aaron for you when Simon comes down.” She cut the apple in her hands in half, cored it, and began slicing it into the first of seven pie shells waiting on the table.

When Leighton did not reply, Gen looked up. “If you are waiting for an invitation to tea, Mr. Leighton, I’m afraid you’re to be disappointed. We should be civil to one another for the sake of the children. You needn’t pretend when no one else is here. Do you want me to send Aaron for you or not?”

“It’s very important that I see Simon right away,” Leighton insisted.

“Not as important as it is that he get some uninterrupted rest,” Gen shot back. She didn’t look away, but stared at him stubbornly. “Aaron just took Hope out for a walk. He should be back soon. As soon as his father is awake, I’ll send for you”—she shot him a wilting glance—“not in the servile sense, you understand.”

The front door slammed shut and Miss Jane came charging down the hall. She managed to get only halfway to the table when the handle on her market basket broke and everything dropped to the floor with a thud. “Mercy!” she exclaimed, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Let me help,” Elliot said, kneeling down and beginning to pick things up and set them on the table.

“Oh, don’t!” Miss Jane exclaimed, scrambling to pick up a dozen small packages, wrapped in brown paper. “I can do it!”

Leighton shot back vehemently, “So can I—even with only one hand!”

Miss Jane retorted, “It has nothing to do with one hand, Elliot Leighton. It has to do with my embarrassment at being such a graceless ninny.” She snatched up the last package, clutching it to her as if it were a priceless treasure. Her cheeks were blazing red, her eyes crackling with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

Gen looked on with a confused frown. Whatever was going on between those two?

“Will you stay for tea, Mr. Leighton?” Jane asked abruptly. “Thank you, Miss Williams.”

“Well, sit down then and let me get my bearings.” Still flustered, Miss Jane stared down at the pile of packages on the table. She pointed to each one, mumbling to herself, “Brown sugar, cinnamon, flour—ah—” She grabbed a small package and turned toward the stove.
“Tea.”

Gen had finished peeling half the box of apples and filled all the pie shells with apple slices by the time Miss Jane had tea ready. “Care to join us?” Miss Jane asked Gen.

Gen shook her head. “I’ll just get the top crusts ready.” She turned away, rolled up her sleeves, and began rolling out the dough waiting on the wood counter against the wall. When the seven pies were ready for the oven, Gen washed and dried her hands, rolled her sleeves back down, and excused herself. “I promised Meg we’d finish the story we began at bedtime last night as soon as she came home from school.” She glanced up the back stairs and said to Miss Jane, “If Simon comes down—”

“—I’ll send him to the parlor,” Miss Jane said quickly.

“No, I wasn’t thinking that,” Gen said reluctantly. “Mr. Leighton came to talk to Simon. Actually, I just wanted you to let me know that he was up.”

Miss Jane reached out and squeezed Gen’s hand. “He’s fine, Gen. I’ve seen it happen before on the mission field. When men don’t have a woman caring for them, they don’t care for themselves. They don’t eat properly, they don’t rest—they work themselves into a frenzy, and then they fall apart. We’ll just have to see that it doesn’t happen again.” She smiled at Gen, who nodded and left.

Elliot sipped his tea and watched as Miss Jane finished putting away her market packages. She untied a small bundle of cinnamon sticks and put them in a clean jar. Brown sugar and flour were put into crocks in the pantry, tea in a dark brown box on a shelf over the stove. Finally, she slid three pies into the oven and then, pouring herself a cup of tea, sat down opposite Leighton.

“Suppose you tell me what the problem is between you and my friend Miss LaCroix,” she said abruptly.

Leighton raised his eyebrows and eyed Miss Jane for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said carefully.

“Of course you do, Mr. Leighton.” Miss Jane sipped her tea. “Every time the two of you are in the same room, it positively frosts over.”

Leighton put a teaspoon of sugar into his teacup and stirred it. “I apologize,” he said quickly, “if I’ve made you uncomfortable. And I don’t want to say anything that might reflect poorly on Miss LaCroix, since you obviously care for her.”

Miss Jane shifted in her chair. Leaning forward, she said, “Let’s be clear on something, Mr. Leighton. I have no use for people who dance around an issue. I’ve asked you to say what’s on your mind, and I’d appreciate an honest answer.” She sat back and waited for him to respond.

“Very well,” Elliot said abruptly. “I’ll be brutally honest.” He nodded toward the front of the house where Gen had gone. “That woman’s people have committed horrible, horrible, things. You cannot make a silk purse from a sow’s ear. And you cannot make a civilized human being out of an Indian.”

Miss Jane blinked rapidly a few times and bit her lip, willing herself not to speak for a moment. Presently, she reached across the table and tugged on Leighton’s left sleeve. He let her pull his injured arm onto the table where she laid his hook in the palm of her hand. She looked up at him, her eyes glimmering with emotion when she said, “I believe
your
people have done a few horrible things from time to time as well, Mr. Leighton.” She arched one eyebrow. “But you don’t hear Miss LaCroix saying how much she hates
you
because the United States military killed the man she loved by mistake.”

“Please,” Elliot said, pulling his arm back and concealing his hook by sliding it onto his lap beneath the table. “Not another story about the great Daniel Two Stars.” He brushed his white mane of hair back from his face. “I’ve heard all about him from Meg.”

“He’s only one hero from the uprising,” Miss Jane said quickly. “If you’d just listen—”